


Be the way you told me

by robokittens



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Daddy Kink, Hand Jobs, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, set nebulously post-movie roll with me here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-10
Updated: 2016-12-10
Packaged: 2018-09-07 16:36:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8808076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robokittens/pseuds/robokittens
Summary: "How was work today, son?" Mr. Graves asks. It's not a thing he calls Credence often, voice soft and affectionate, but when he does it thrills Credence to the bone.
And Credence doesn't mean to say it, it just slips out, he's never even had a father before but there's something to the way Mr. Graves calls him son and out of his mouth comes, "It was good, Daddy."





	1. December, 1926

**Author's Note:**

  * For [brittlelimbs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/brittlelimbs/gifts).



> thank you to all the peppermind papas, but especially to [brittlelimbs](http://archiveofourown.org/users/brittlelimbs) for all of the help and encouragement!
> 
> not properly beta'd, and also my first time writing daddykink, so let's see how this goes.

Credence nervously edges his wand along the seam of the door to Mr. Graves' apartment, whispering the spell Mr. Graves taught him to unlock the door. He's pretty sure his boss at the bookstore thinks he's a squib, but he's just hesitant with his magic.

Mr. Graves had found him the job; Mr. Graves had welcomed him into his home. Just until Credence can find somewhere to live, Credence promises, but Mr. Graves just shakes his head every time he says it, shakes his head every time Credence offers him rent. He insists that Credence doesn't owe him a debt, but Credence knows that isn't true: he owes Mr. Graves his magic; he owes Mr. Graves his life.

Mr. Graves is sitting at a chair in the kitchen, reading a paper. Credence sneaks a glance at it as Mr. Graves folds it and places it on the table; he loves the moving pictures.

"How was work today, son?" Mr. Graves asks. It's not a thing he calls Credence often, voice soft and affectionate, but when he does it thrills Credence to the bone.

And Credence doesn't mean to say it, it just slips out, he's never even had a father before but there's something to the way Mr. Graves calls him _son_ and out of his mouth comes, "It was good, Daddy."

Credence flushes scarlet. Mr. Graves just looks at him, eyes blown.

"Say that again," Mr. Graves says.

"I'm sorry!" Credence has been doing better lately about standing up straight, but he hunches in on himself again.

"Say that again," Mr. Graves says, and his tone leaves no room for argument. He stands up, takes a firm step toward Credence.

Credence stares at the floor, but his voice is clear when he says, "It was good, Daddy."

"Credence." Mr. Graves' voice is slow, careful. "Have you ever been kissed?"

Credence looks up at that. "No, sir," he says slowly.

"Would you like to be?"

Again, Credence curls in on himself. This is a test, it has to be — Mr. Graves wants to see if Credence is still pure of soul, or if living in the wizarding world has corrupted him somehow. Or … maybe Mr. Graves wants the wizarding world to have corrupted him? Maybe that's what he needs, to survive here.

He forces himself to look Mr. Graves in the eye. There's a hunger there that Credence hasn't seen since before, when Mr. Graves wasn't Mr. Graves at all. This Mr. Graves has been so good to him, so kind, but he's never looked at Credence like _that_.

Credence blinks, once, but when his eyes open again Mr. Graves' gaze hasn't wavered.

"Yes, Daddy," he says quietly. "I would like that very much."

"Come here," Mr. Graves says, and his voice is such a low murmur that Credence can barely hear him. He takes a step forward, two, crosses the small distance between them and before he knows it Mr. Graves has one hand on his shoulder, the other on the back of his neck, and he's pulling Credence in and in and in.

Their lips brush.

" _Oh_ ," Credence gasps.

"It's all right, son," Mr. Graves whispers, and Credence can feel his lip moving.

Mr. Graves presses a kiss to his lips, to the corner of his mouth, to his lips again, brushes his tongue along the seam of them and Credence feels his lips open, open, and then Mr. Graves is kissing him.

They stay like that for what seems like hours, in the middle of the kitchen, Mr. Graves' hands tight on his shoulders holding him close, Credence's arms dangling loosely at his sides because he's not sure where to put them.

When Mr. Graves finally pulls back, Credence's lips feel red and raw, his tongue heavy in his mouth. He stares at Mr. Graves with wide eyes; he can feel a hunger in them that echoes Mr. Graves' earlier.

Credence's legs tremble, his knees threatening to buckle. Mr. Graves holds him close. 

"Sit," Mr. Graves says, voice low in Credence's ear, and guides him to the kitchen table. Credence collapses into a chair. Mr. Graves leans down and brushes a kiss over Credence's forehead. "Good boy."

Credence's eyelashes flutter.

It's wrong, Credence knows. He shouldn't enjoy kissing and he shouldn't enjoy kissing a man and he shouldn't feel a sick, hot thrill run through his veins every time Mr. Graves calls him _son_.

But then Mr. Graves is smoothing down his hair and running his hands down Credence's neck, over his jaw, fingertips trailing across his lips.

Impulsively, Credence nips at one of Mr. Graves' fingers, and Mr. Graves laughs. He leans down, says quietly into Credence's ear, "I could kiss you for hours. I could kiss you for days. There's so much I have to teach you. Do you want to learn?"

Credence lets all his breath out in one long, shaky exhale. "Yes, Daddy. _Yes_."


	2. February, 1927

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (this is the chapter with the porn)

It's blustery cold outside, and all Credence wants to do after a long day at the bookstore is crawl into his Daddy's bed and go to sleep. If Daddy is in bed too, all the better, but there's been an epidemic of No-Majs getting hexed, and he's been getting home late these days.

But there's something lucky in wishing — Ma always told him that was wrong, that prayer made things happen but hope was for the hopeless. Daddy says he just wishes he could give Credence everything he wished for.

Credence is lucky this time; Daddy isn't in bed but he is in front of the fire, lounging in an oversized upholstered chair, wrapped in a smoking jacket. There's a cup of coffee, still steaming, on the coffee table. He looks up when Credence walks in.

"Hey son," he says, and it's been over a month since Mr. Graves became Daddy but Credence still feels a thrill every time Daddy calls him _son_.

"Hi Daddy," he says, and walks over to the fire. He leans in and presses a kiss to Daddy's cheek. "How was work?" He inhales deeply: Daddy smells like brilliantine and smoke and coffee and a little bit like cologne, still, after the whole day. 

Daddy groans. "Long," he says, and he pats his knee. "Want to help me forget about it?"

"Always," Credence says, and he's instantly breathless. "Let me —" He blushes. "Can I take off my coat?"

Daddy laughs. "Of course you can. Tell you what, why don't you get ready for bed and then come back and join me, okay?"

Normally on a cold night like this Credence would wear his favorite pajamas, pale blue flannel with stripes in a darker blue, but tonight he wants to look especially good for Daddy. 

There's a nightshirt they'd found in the back of Daddy's closet, loose and white, when Credence first moved in with nothing but the clothes on his back. Daddy never wears it anymore, and he'd said Credence could have it. Credence hadn't known what the look in his eyes meant when he saw Credence wearing it for the first time. He knows that look now.

He unfolds the nightshirt carefully from where he keeps it in his drawer. He changes quickly, not wanting to keep Daddy waiting, and pads in his bare feet back to the living room.

Daddy's picked the paper back up — Credence can see a Quidditch team waving triumphantly at him from the first page, although he can't tell which one — but he sets it down again when Credence walks back into the room.

"Look at you," he murmurs, and pats his knee again. Credence goes, obedient, and Daddy pulls him in, settles him on his lap back to front, flush against his chest. Credence's legs hang on either side of Daddy's, his heels kicking at Daddy's shins. He tips his head back on Daddy's shoulder and kisses the underside of Daddy's jaw, feels the shiver that runs through Daddy's body. 

"So, how was work today, son? Tell me about it." Daddy asks, low in Credence's ear, and Credence can feel the rumble of his voice where they're pressed together. He can feel something else, too, Daddy getting hard beneath him. He wonders what they'll do tonight: if he'll get to put his mouth on Daddy, or if Daddy will take him right here in this chair.

"Son?" Daddy prompts, and Credence flushes. If Daddy knew what he'd been thinking about …

"It was good," Credence says. "We were very slow, so Mr. Coburn had me filing scrolls in the back room." He makes a face. "Books are much easier to organize than scrolls, but it was … soothing? I like filing. The repetition is … nice."

"You're very organized," Daddy says fondly, and Credence flushes a brighter red at the praise. 

Daddy's hand is rubbing over Credence's thigh through the nightshirt. It's a short nightshirt, and Credence is tall, so it only comes down to his knees; the way he's sitting has rucked it up a little. He's not wearing anything underneath, which he knows is daring, but he hopes Daddy appreciates it. He gets a little hard just thinking about it, and he knows Daddy could see it through the nightshirt if he looked down, which just makes him a little harder.

"I'm glad you had a good day," Daddy says, and sighs. "Daddy had such a long day. Do you want to be a good boy and help me feel better?"

"Yes, please," Credence says, shifting in Daddy's lap. Daddy lets out a sharp exhale.

"Do you want me …" Credence hadn't realized he could blush even harder than he was, but he can feel his cheeks heating up. He knows he's asking for so much, but he has to ask. "Do you want me on my knees, Daddy?"

Daddy groans, loud in Credence's ear. His hand tightens on Credence's thigh. "That sounds good, son. But not this time."

Credence makes a soft disappointed sound and Daddy laughs, not unkindly, and kisses Credence's cheek. His hand drops lower, and his fingers skirt under the hem of Credence's nightshirt. Credence sucks in a breath. His eyes slip shut.

"There's my good boy," Daddy murmurs. His hand inches slowly higher, higher, pulling Credence's nightshirt along with it, blunt fingernails dragging up Credence's inner thigh. By the time his fingers wrap around the base of Credence's cock it's flushed as red as his cheeks and leaking from the tip. 

"Oh," Credence gasps out, " _Daddy_!"

Daddy laughs again, and Credence shudders. "That's good, son," Daddy says. "You're such a good boy for me, aren't you?"

" _Yes_ ," Credence says, and, "Daddy, _please_."

"Good," Daddy says again, and he wraps his whole big hand around Credence's cock. Credence knows that if he looked down he'd see his cock all swallowed up inside Daddy's hand, with just the flushed red head peeking out. He keeps his eyes shut. He whimpers.

Daddy's hand moves, spreading the slick from the head all down Credence's length, pulling his foreskin up and then down again, pulling long and low noises from Credence's throat, noises he never thinks he can make until Daddy is touching him. 

Daddy kisses Credence's throat, and then bites down softly, and then Credence moans, and then it doesn't take long at all until Credence is coming in hot white spurts all over his Daddy's hand.

"Daddy," he doesn't even realize he's saying, over and over, "Daddy, Daddy."

"Yes, son," Daddy says, and his fingers are moving over the top of Credence's cock, sliding through the wetness there. 

Two of Daddy's fingers press against Credence's lips and Credence opens for them automatically. The taste and feel of his own seed is foreign on his tongue, slimy and almost bitter, and it doesn't slide down his throat smoothly like Daddy's does. It collects on the tip of his tongue and he swallows, swallows around Daddy's thick fingers, licks between them to make sure he gets it all.

Daddy is talking, he realizes faintly, telling him how good he is, how good his tongue feels on Daddy's fingers, how good he feels in Daddy's arms. 

Credence makes a soft sound around Daddy's fingers and Daddy pulls them out, letting just the very tips of them rest on Credence's lower lip before letting go completely. Credence opens his eyes, shifts around in Daddy's lap until he can look at him.

"Do you feel better, Daddy?" He can feel the flush still high in his cheeks, and even Daddy looks a little breathless. He can still feel the hard length of Daddy's cock trapped underneath him. 

"Much better," Daddy whispers, and when he leans in to kiss Credence, Credence opens his mouth eagerly. Daddy's mouth slots neatly against his, and when Daddy pulls away, his voice is a low murmur against Credence's throat. "Do you want to make Daddy feel even better?"

Credence nods urgently, and when he feels Daddy's hands at his waist he takes it as his cue to stand up. He feels Daddy pressed up behind him, Daddy's hands still on his hips, and when Daddy turns him around he leans in so they can kiss again.

"Come on, son," Daddy says, breath hot against Credence's lips. He takes a step back, but he's not far, and there's a smile on his face as he takes Credence's hand and leads him toward their bedroom.

Curling up in bed with Daddy, the snow just starting to fall outside the windowpanes, Credence smiles, too. He got his wish after all.


End file.
